


The Kindest of Kisses (Break the Hardest of Hearts)

by TheoMiller



Category: Knight & Rogue - Hilari Bell
Genre: Doctor Who References, Emotional Baggage, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, PWP, References to Supernatural (TV), fanboy!Fisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheoMiller/pseuds/TheoMiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fisk won't let Michael go slow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kindest of Kisses (Break the Hardest of Hearts)

**Author's Note:**

> Blame all mistakes on the fact that you’re reading an asexual female virgin’s gay porn. Um. Yeah, I haven’t got any excuses for this one.

“If we go with the cheap and dirty motel, the motorcycles won’t be here in the morning,” Michael said.

Fisk cast a dubious glance over the battered bikes, and then looked at Michael, who grinned in concession. “Money doesn’t grow on trees, _Noble Sir_ ,” He said. “We can’t afford to get half-decent motels every time we stop, unless you let me hustle pool again.”

“Not a chance,” Michael sounded affronted. Probably because Fisk had brought back the old nickname _and_ his Winchester inspired money making suggestion (it was Michael’s fault, really – he was the modern knight errant travelling from city to city trying to save people; it just begged for comparison to the Winchesters). Ah well. “The next three places we stop, we’ll pitch the tents. Deal?”

After a moment, Fisk nodded. “Sounds like a deal to me.”

And that was how they ended up in a Day’s Inn instead of a rundown orange stucco building with a sign proclaiming the novelty of air conditioning and color television. Michael even sprang for takeout, so they pulled the duvets off the beds (Fisk never slept with those on anyway, because he _knew_ what people got up to in motels, and housecleaning doesn’t wash those as often as they wash the sheets) and sat cross-legged on them on the floor with Trouble lying beside them.

“So,” Michael said slowly, a hint of color in his cheeks. Fisk knew that blush, that tone – it meant sex. _Hells yeah_. “I may have had an ulterior motive for picking a cleaner motel.”

“Please tell me you’re not taking off on another grand adventure,” Fisk joked, as if he couldn’t guess Michael’s motive. He was the Watson to Michael’s crazy ass Holmes, and somehow _every goddamn adventure_ turned full on “The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton”, in that Fisk had to break into something and they narrowly avoid getting caught. He’d given up burglary for a reason, dammit, and that reason was the stomach-wrenching fear of being caught.

Michael made a bitchface to rival Sam Winchester, and Fisk _really_ needed to stop comparing them to the Winchester brothers, because nothing killed boners faster than incest. Mostly because he could picture Judith _cutting off his dick with a rusty steak knife_ in overwhelming clarity. “Do you remember when we had that one discussion…?” He trailed off.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Fisk smirked.

The knight errant (who would be a whole fucking _millennia_ too late, had chivalrous knights errant actually existed) steeled his gaze. “Do you remember when we discussed me tying you up when I fucked you?”

Fisk hummed and pretended to think about it. “Hmm… You know, I think I recall something to that – oof!” He broke off as Michael crashed into his side and pushed him to the ground. “Yes, I remember – by the _gods_ , Michael, please tell me you came prepared.”

Michael rolled off of him and dragged his bag over to him. Fisk glanced at Trouble, who was tilting his head at Michael, and dragged the dog into the bathroom. He put a few treats in the complicated toys Michael had bought the little hellhound (okay, no self-respecting demon would use a mute hellhound, which raised the question of why he and Michael had a mute “guard dog”) and set the food dishes next to the bath tub.

By the time he’d convinced Trouble to let go of his pant leg and pay attention to his toys, Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands neatly folded in his lap, and there was a leather cuff on each end of the headboard. Fisk dropped to his knees in front of him and met his gaze, but Michael stilled his fingers when he tried to reach for his belt. “We still need to arrange a safe word,” He said softly.

“Michael, you’re tying my hands to the headboard, not trussing me up – though that’s not to say that isn’t in the cards, since you seem to be kinkier than I gave you credit for – we don’t need a safe word.”

But he’d already adopted his ‘Fisk I’m worried about your welfare’ face – Fisk _hated_ that face – so he rolled his eyes and gave in, “Red. I’ll use ‘red’. It’s pretty standard.”

“I was going to suggest that,” Michael said, and he sounded considerably happier now. His face was shining with the kind of pure, real joy only Michael can reach.

“No chick flick moments,” Fisk answered sharply, because that’s a real and present danger with someone who generally calls sex with Fisk ‘making love’ and actually brought Fisk flowers once, mostly because he had always expected a beautiful maiden and not a cynical ex con artist. “We are not going to have a sappy, commitment filled chat pre-orgasm. I still have a reputation worth maintaining.”

Ten minutes later found Fisk carefully bound, entirely naked, to the bed and Michael trailing kisses along his inner arms while Fisk squirmed and tried desperately to get some friction against his achingly hard cock. Usually five minutes was Fisk’s absolute limit for Michael’s tenderness – the whole idea of tying Fisk up had come from the umpteenth time Fisk had gotten tired of waiting around and flipped their positions so he was on top and rode Michael until he came – but this time Michael seemed determined to make it last.

Michael’s touch was reverent, his kisses gentle, and he stretched Fisk slowly, keeping him hard by nuzzling at his balls and kissing the base of his cock whenever his erection started to flag. Michael crawled back up to kiss Fisk as he guided his own erection to press into Fisk’s lube-slick hole. “I love you,” He murmured over and over.

“Don’t,” Fisk said in a broken voice, and Michael paused. “Don’t say that,” Fisk clarified.

There was a pause where blue eyes studied Fisk with an aching fondness, and then slotted his mouth against Fisk’s. Their breaths, labored and warm, mixed until Fisk’s head was swimming. He scarcely noticed Michael pulling partially out until Michael broke the not-kiss and pushed back in with the same gentle movement. “You’re brilliant,” Michael said roughly. “The way you can navigate cities without ever seeing them before, without so much as a map,” He continued, rocking his hips forward.

“The way you remember everything you read, and the reverence with which you recite it,” Michael said, “I’ve never seen anything like it. Never seen anything like you.”

“ _Michael_ ,” Fisk gasped, and maybe he’d meant to tell him to stop it, stop being so damned nice all the time, but then Michael’s next careful thrust brushed his prostate and he quite lost his train of thought.

“You’re kind. You don’t let anyone see it, because you think it’s a weakness, and by the gods does that make want to rip the shriveled fucking heart out of Jack Bannister, but you’re kind. It’s why I paid your bail in the first place.”

“How are you still _speaking_?” Fisk grumbled, slumping against the headboard. “Ngh.”

Michael brushed Fisk’s hair out of his face in between one steady roll of his hips and the next. “You are the best friend I’ve ever had – _gods,_ _Fisk you’re so beautiful like this –_ the most loyal person I’ve ever known, and I – _oh_ – haven’t the faintest idea how to repay you for any of it.”

“Please, Michael, please…” said Fisk.

“Please what?”

“Need you, need to feel something. Harder, _please_.”

Slim fingers wrapped around Fisk’s cock and stroked it with the same quiet intensity as Michael’s continued rhythmic thrusts, and the smaller man moaned something that might’ve been _Michael_ but got lost in translation, and Michael was swallowing his desperate noises with a hungry kiss. “I’ll make you a deal,” Michael said.

Fisk had a quip, somewhere, about deals with the devil and sealing it with a kiss, but it came out more like “ _anything_ ”.

“Let me say it,” Michael said, “And I’ll fuck you hard and dirty right now, make you come fast.”

“Yes, yes, okay, dammit, Michael, just—” Fisk lost what little ability to speak he’d regained as Michael slammed into him, hitting his prostate just as his strokes along the shaft of Fisk’s cock became far more urgent.

“So fucking tight, even after all that stretching,” Michael growled. “You’re perfect, _dammit_ , absolutely fucking gorgeous, all spread out under me.”

And yeah, no, that posh accent all low and sexified and _swearing_ , nope, not gonna last. Shuddering, Fisk bit down on his own lip and came.

Michael stilled and held Fisk, warm and salty against Fisk’s sticky skin, and pulled out slowly.

“You didn’t—” Fisk said, eloquently, and waved a hand at Michael’s cock, which was rapidly softening in the cold air.

“That,” Michael said, as he gathered their clothes and slipped into the bathroom (Trouble let out a rasp of greeting) to get a washcloth, “Wasn’t about me.”

“You didn’t say it again, after our deal,” Fisk realized.

Michael smirked as he cleaned Fisk off. “The deal was you’d let me say it. I didn’t say when it’d happen, and I didn’t put any sort of limit on the number of times.”

“That was _sneaky_.”

“I learnt from the best,” Michael replied, and undid the cuffs. He rubbed Fisk’s hands until he seemed satisfied that they hadn’t lost circulation, turned off the light, let True—err, Trouble—out of the bathroom, and finally, fucking _finally_ , climbed back into the bed and pulled Fisk against his chest. “You make a very good little spoon,” He added, and Fisk can _hear_ the grin in his voice and feel it against his skin.

“Fuck you very much,” Fisk grumbled.

“I love you too,” Michael said.

Fisk paused, sucked in a deep breath, and tried to school his expression, though Michael couldn’t see his face. “Michael Sevenson—”

“Don’t feel obligated,” Michael murmured into his nape. “I know.”

“Dude. No Doomsday shit, okay? Let me say it. Otherwise millions of fans will be left sobbing to confused non-fans _he almost said it_.”

“…What?”

Fisk snuggled back against Michael’s front. “I love you, you uncultured swine,” He said, and that was easier than he’d expected. His eyes drifted shut, and he was just beginning to settle into the dark recesses of sleep when Trouble jumped up on the bed and curled around their feet. “I’m going to kill your dog, though.”

“You love him too,” Michael said.

“Reputation, Michael, reputation. I have to hold it up. Or something.”

Michael chuckled. “Sleep, my squire.”

And Fisk did.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, rubbish, happy, consensual sexytimes between two awesome characters in a rare fandom.


End file.
